"What are you going to do with it?" I asked.
"It won't hatch until after I get down there," she informs me about our upcoming summer together.
Our history with eggs is long. Five years ago, I bush hogged a field that turned up a wild turkey nest. We took the eggs to our apartment and put them in a shoebox under a lamp. I wondered how long I'd keep them there until I told Hayes they weren't going to hatch.
Then ... the damn things hatched. Three baby turkeys! Only one survived and Hayes called it "Fred Turkey" and it lasted a couple of weeks until our Dacshund killed it when it got out of a pen at our farm. Hayes cried and was pretty angry with the dog.
About a month ago, she told me her friend found a goose egg and so she took it home, put it under a lamp and waited. Dud. So now here we are: expectant goose mothers.
Do you remember a few years ago when a goose attacked Hayes? I do. Not something I'll ever get over! And now we're supposed to hatch a baby goose in the house?
One thing is clear, a long-time friend said to me, Hayes is hiding the egg and bringing it to me, her mother, and all that symbolizes. "I could cry about that for 10 minutes," she said to me.
I told Hayes I better not be the first person that thing sees when it hatches and she best hope it hangs on until Monday night when I pick them up!